


Peace at Last

by Elendiliel



Series: Lightning Strikes [25]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Star Wars: The Clone Wars Season 7 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29700330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendiliel/pseuds/Elendiliel
Summary: Lightning Squadron have faced and defeated countless opponents together, but there's one enemy nobody can outrun forever: time. As the former CO of some of the Clone Wars' longest-serving soldiers and one of her oldest friends wait for organic life's ultimate foe to part them one last time, she reflects on their unusual lives and enduring friendship - alone or with their family.
Series: Lightning Strikes [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087898
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Peace at Last

**Author's Note:**

> As I noted in the tags, there's a spoiler for Season 7 of _The Clone Wars_ in this fic. It's only a passing reference, but I thought I'd better flag it up.
> 
> I don't know how else to tag this one (I'm still relatively new to all this), but fair warning: this is probably the most emotional story I've written yet. I was in two minds about publishing it, but here goes. It's better than having the words trapped on my laptop, or, worse, rattling around my head.
> 
> Chronology: 24 ABY, twenty years after Endor and ten before Starkiller Base and Crait.

_At least I’m prepared this time – as much as possible._ Helli Abbasa had rarely been so grateful for her decades-ago Jedi training as when she sat by the bed of one of her oldest living friends, holding his hand, waiting for the Maker to call him home. It wasn’t just the prospect of pain and grief she was having to ignore. It was anger. Fives had survived so much. Two wars. A firing squad. Attempted assassination, although technically he _had_ died then. Their long-drawn-out struggle against the Empire, and the equally messy business of helping to pick up the pieces after its fall. He had never been expected to live so long. Millions of others grown in Kamino’s tanks hadn’t. They had never been intended to survive the Clone Wars in great numbers, which was why their creators had got away with doubling the speed at which they aged. Fives was only in his fifties, but his physiological age should have been in three figures, and would have been without his old friend AZI-3, a Kaminoan medical droid. But even AZI couldn’t prevent the slow failure of almost every organ system that was killing the old soldier. Even the cybernetic heart that had kept him alive for over forty years was failing. Only his brain was unaffected, which was a mixed blessing. It meant he knew exactly what was happening to him, but Helli had seen other old friends fall to dementia and marginally preferred things this way around. Memory loss killed people twice over, and she’d already lost Fives once before.

That was part of the reason he had adamantly refused any life support beyond the bare minimum. He would die on his body’s own terms, at his own pace. Helli privately agreed; she had always been uneasy about extending life too far beyond its natural limits. Quality, not quantity, was the important thing. Accordingly, they had found a hospice on Naboo, entirely unlike anything on Kamino or Coruscant. A peaceful place; a beautiful place; a good place.

Her gaze fell on their interlinked hands, his left in her right, so different, but fitting together so well. His was larger, tanned and callused, still with the trigger-mark on his index finger from one of the DC-17 blaster pistols he had carried for so long. A soldier’s hand, even now. Hers was pale and slim, with long, dexterous fingers. In other circumstances, it might have been a doctor’s hand, or a musician’s. Among the few things she remembered about her biological father were his love of and talent for music. He had been – possibly still was; she had never dared check up on her first family – a gifted singer and skilled with multiple instruments. But her path had led elsewhere, as her hands showed to those with eyes to see. Wielding, at various times in her life, her lightsabre, a shieldstaff, a DC-17 like Fives’ and the controls of several models of starfighter (she preferred the Delta-7B Aethersprite but could fly just about anything) had left faint but distinctive traces. Her favourite weapons, though, left no visible signs. Her brain, her tongue, and above all the Force. Not that that was really a weapon, so much as an ally.

Part of her suppressed anger stemmed from the fact that she had been largely spared the ravages of time thus far. Natural selection had slowed her species’ ageing process. Even now, at the age of sixty-four, her red-brown hair was only streaked with silver, and her reactions were only just starting to slow down. Her face was still unlined, and the look of maturity in her eyes had more to do with war and betrayal than accumulated years. It would be a couple of decades before mortality really started to catch up with her. It didn’t seem fair.

In an attempt to distract herself, she let her eyes unfocus and roam wherever they chose. It didn’t help. They picked the blue and red Rishi eel tattooed on Fives’ left upper arm, just visible below the short sleeve of his tunic. The same image, like the Z-6 blaster above it, had once adorned his armour, commemorating his fallen comrades Droidbait, Cutup and Hevy. She knew that an eagle design on his shoulder blade served the same purpose for one of their unit, shot down on their first mission together. Below that, as she didn’t like to remember, was the stylised light source that had once been on Spark’s helmet. A stroke had claimed his life a few years before. At least it had been quick, and relatively painless – for him.

There were so many other brothers he could have marked. Hardcase, who sacrificed himself to destroy an Umbaran supply ship. Tup, one of the first victims of Order 66. Kix, who had vanished not long afterwards. Nobody knew how or why. Jesse, killed trying to ensure the deaths of the “traitors” Ahsoka Tano and Rex. The Clone Wars had been one of the greatest atrocities in the galaxy’s history, sweeping away so many and leaving countless others bereaved, homeless or disabled, but out of it all had come people and relationships that would not otherwise have existed. Thermodynamics might dictate that the universe tend towards disorder, but the Force tends towards balance, and she was immeasurably grateful for it.

“Have you heard from the others?” Fives’ voice pulled her out of her reverie, not a moment too soon. When AZI (now hovering at a discreet distance and uncharacteristically silent) had finally conceded that there was no more he could do for Fives bar palliative care and that the end was near, he had immediately called Helli, and together they had contacted the scattered survivors of their unconventional family. Their brothers, Helli’s old apprentices and _their_ apprentices. Helli knew they would come, but she’d left her commlink off, and therefore had no way of knowing when they would arrive. Or whether they would be in time.

“They’ll be here soon. Just – stay with me, OK?” She could feel his grip on life beginning to loosen despite his best efforts.

“Will do, Hel.” He had nearly called her _General_ , she could tell. Normally she couldn’t stand being treated like a soldier, but if anyone had earned the right to use her old title, he had.

Silence descended once more. Helli let herself slip into a meditation exercise, and if she were any judge Fives was also using one of the techniques she had once taught him to while away the time. The occasional click or beep of a monitor sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room, but none of the people in it were disturbed by such noises.

Some time later (in meditative trance, time became fluid), the door chimed softly. Rather than call out, Helli signalled to AZI, who opened the door remotely to admit their long-awaited visitors. Echo, Fives’ oldest friend, came straight over, reaching out to clasp his squad-mate’s free wrist with his organic hand, and not quite flinching as Fives returned the gesture with unexpected strength. Helli summoned another chair for him, aware that despite a couple of years in cryo and assorted cybernetic implants age was also starting to catch up to the other clone. She didn’t jump as Torrent put his hands on her shoulders, knowing her _nerra_ as well as she did, but put her left hand over his, acknowledging and returning the gesture of consolation. They could never marry, or have any similar but unofficial arrangement, but their bond was as strong as ever.

She couldn’t really turn around, but she knew that the rest of her family were standing behind her. Petro, Katooni, Zatt, Ganodi, Gungi and Byph were no longer her padawans – after the rebellion, she, Luke Skywalker and various late but far from gone Jedi Masters had managed to replicate the traditional ceremony for the end of an apprenticeship, declaring that the war counted as their trials – but they were still her children, and Fives had been their father figure during the turbulent years following the Purge. Their apprentices, children of the Force trained by Skywalker, were her grandchildren. Even Naidoldar Douzar had tagged along. The ex-Inquisitor (emphasis on the _ex_ ) had been Helli’s sister for over twenty years. She still didn’t find “weak” emotions easy, but sent Helli her best guess at an empathic message of support. Fives’ eyes lingered on each one, speaking volumes and receiving equal replies without exchanging a syllable out loud.

There was no need for words, not now. Forty-five years since their first meeting, forty-three since they had acquired a companion unit, Lightning Squadron had done all their talking long before. They communicated without words, without even gesture or expression. In the Force, they were bound by love into a single being that happened to have five operating bodies.

But it couldn’t last. Finally, as they all knew he had to do, Fives broke the companionable silence, meeting Helli’s eyes one last time, his gaze still clear and steady. “May I be dismissed, General?”

“You may, soldier. Thank you for your service. It’s been an honour to know you.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s been an honour to serve with you as well.” They were perfect last words. Fives’ eyes slid shut, and while his hand didn’t fall from Helli’s, the pressure from it vanished. Helli laid it gently by his side, then stood (Torrent, knowing her as well as she knew him, removed his hands from her shoulders at exactly the right time), leaned over and, just as she had done all those years ago, kissed his forehead and whispered, “Rest in peace, my brother.”

No more needed to be said. The room fell silent once more, each person lost in memory, honouring their loved one and their shared loss. Then, as though someone had flipped a switch, most of its occupants began to file out, leaving Helli, Torrent, Echo and AZI to the practicalities of preparing Fives’ body for burial. Helli was determined to get this right. She had never been convinced that the physical world was mere “crude matter”. Even though Fives’ soul had joined with the Force, his body was still a work of the Maker’s art, its constituent elements formed at the very beginning of the universe, in the hearts of stars, or in supernovae. Such a creation deserved respect.

It was remarkably easy to push her grief to one side, to focus on what needed to be done. Even almost to enjoy being with her other brothers again, despite the heartbreaking circumstances. Tears would come later, she knew, but for the moment she was just thankful that her soldier-brother had found peace at last.


End file.
